The Marquis Who Hated Women (Bantam Series No. 62)

by Barbara Cartland

  There was no need for him to look closer to know who it was.

  He recognised the fair hair lying on a pillow that Shikara must have taken from the bed, and the black velvet fur-lined cloak with which she had covered herself to keep warm.

  Her eyes were closed and her lashes were very dark against her white skin. Beside her on the floor, hidden under the bed, was her valise, which the Marquis remembered and also her hand-bag.

  He stared at her for a moment, then said sharply:

  “Awaken Miss Bartlett, Hignet, and send her to me in the Saloon.”

  He did not wait for an answer but walked out of the cabin and back to the Saloon with his anger rising with every footstep he took.

  How dare this girl behave in such a manner? How dare she come aboard his yacht and thrust herself upon him?

  God knows he had given her little enough encouragement, and yet here he was saddled with her!

  He supposed the only thing he could do would be to divert the yacht from its intended course and put Shikara ashore at Plymouth or perhaps Cherbourg.

  “The impudence of it! The damned impudence of it!” the Marquis raged to himself.

  He was scowling ferociously when some minutes later the door of the Saloon opened and Shikara came in.

  She was wearing the tightly buttoned jacket in which he had first seen her, but her head was bare and her hair seemed very fair and slightly ruffled round her small face.

  Her eyes were large and apprehensive, but she carried her chin high and walked towards the Marquis, who made no effort to rise, but sat waiting until she was opposite him.

  “Well?” he asked sharply, as she did not speak. “What have you to say for yourself?”

  ‘I am ... sorry,” Shikara replied, “but I ... hoped you would not ... find me so ... soon.”

  “What has that got to do with it?” the Marquis asked. “Sooner or later you would have been discovered, and let me say I consider it a vast impudence, an intrusion upon my privacy, a complete outrage for you to have come aboard my yacht uninvited!”

  “I ... I am sorry,” Shikara said again.

  The ship gave a little lurch and she reached out to hold on to the table.

  “M-may I ... sit down?”

  ‘I suppose so,” the Marquis said grudgingly. “Since you seem to have taken it upon yourself to behave in any way you wish, then apparently my consent is not necessary even to extend you the freedom of my yacht.”

  “I ... had to come,” Shikara said. “There was no ... ship sailing for the Mediterranean until the day after tomorrow. By that time ... Uncle Hardwin might easily have ... caught up with me.”

  “That is not my affair,” the Marquis snapped.

  “I ... went to the ... Hotel,” Shikara said, “but they said they were full up. I think they did not ... want me as I was alone.”

  The Marquis was silent as he realised he had not thought of that.

  He told himself that it was in fact rather remiss of him not to have warned Shikara that no respectable Hotel would accept a woman of her age unaccompanied and with only a small valise.

  She had seemed so confident, so sure of herself, that it had never crossed his mind that this was the sort of situation she might encounter.

  For a moment he almost blamed himself for not having considered the possibility of her being unable to find accommodation.

  Then the thought of her thrusting herself upon him brought the anger back into his eyes.

  “I said you should go home and stop behaving in this ridiculous manner. If you were so intent upon getting away from England you could have taken a steamer to France.”

  He felt as if he had scored off her by suggesting an alternative action to the one she had taken. Then almost humbly Shikara said:

  “I did ... not have ... enough money.”

  “Are you telling me that you set off on this mad escapade without even considering what it would cost?” the Marquis thundered.

  “No ... of course not,” Shikara answered. “I obviously had not enough cash available, but I thought it would be easy to sell my mother’s jewellery. However, when I went to the jewellers they refused to buy the brooch I offered them. I think they ... thought I had ... stolen it.”

  The Marquis got to his feet to walk across the Saloon as if only by moving could he control the irritation he felt

  “I have never heard such a story of bungling incompetence,” he stormed. “Having got yourself in such a mess, why should you expect me to pull you out of it? That is what you are asking, is it not?”

  He almost shouted the words at her, and after a moment’s pause Shikara said:

  “I ... it was ... rather frightening ... not knowing what to ... do, and a ... man spoke to me.”

  “I told you that was the sort of danger any girl might expect walking about the streets alone,” the Marquis replied.

  “And so I thought the only way to be ... safe was to come with ... you,” Shikara said. “I will be no ... trouble ... I will keep out of your sight ... in fact you need not even ... know I am on ... board.”

  “Is that likely?” the Marquis asked. “Anyway, I do not intend to carry an unwanted guest. The question is whether I deposit you at Plymouth or at Cherbourg.”

  There was no answer and after a moment he said sharply:

  “Well—which is it to be?”

  Shikara clasped her hands together and looked at him, and her eyes were very large and pleading.

  “Please ... take me a little further. If you leave me at ... Cherbourg I shall have to go overland to Marseilles. I did that journey once with Papa and it was very ... uncomfortable... and I think I might be ... frightened alone.”

  “It would be a very good thing if you were! It would perhaps make you see sense and go back to your Uncle.”

  “And m-marry Lord Stroud?” Shikara asked. “Never!”

  “You cannot go wandering about the world without money, and as I told you before you have no idea of the dangers which could be waiting for you.”

  “I am ... beginning to understand them,” Shikara said. “The m-man who ... spoke to me in the street was ... horrid! I ran away ... but I thought he might ... follow me.”

  “God!” the Marquis exclaimed. “Was any man more bedevilled by women than I? Why should I have to put up with all this ridiculous play-acting? You are not my responsibility. I never even saw you before last night, and when we reached Southampton I hoped and expected to see the last of you.”

  “Neither had I any wish to see you again!” Shikara retorted, as if the words were forced from her lips. “If you think I am running after you because of your attractions you are very much mistaken! I hid in your yacht simply because I was afraid that Uncle Hardwin might be looking for me! I had no other reason, and if you are apprehensive—do not flatter yourself that I have designs upon you!”

  She spoke so rudely that the Marquis stared at her in surprise. Then because he was reminded once again of a small tiger-cub at the Zoo he laughed.

  “Well, at least we are being frank with each other,” he said, and found to his surprise that his anger had abated.

  He sat down again on the chair he had vacated.

  “We must talk this over sensibly, and as I know you have had no dinner, and I very much suspect no luncheon either, I suppose I should ask the steward to bring you some food.”

  “After all you have said to me I think it would stick in my throat!” Shikara answered.

  “I doubt it,” the Marquis replied dryly. “In the meantime, let me offer you a glass of champagne. I feel that after all you have experienced you need one.”

  He rose again to go to the corner of the Saloon where there was an open bottle of champagne resting in an ice-cooler that was firmly fixed to the floor, where it could not move with the roll of the ship.

  The Marquis poured some of the wine into a cut-crystal glass and gave it to Shikara. Then he rang the bell to summon the steward.

  “Now you are being nice to me, and
I am becoming suspicious,” she said. “Are you intending to throw me overboard?”

  The Marquis laughed—he could not help it.

  ‘It is certainly an idea,” he said, “a solution that actually had not come into my mind.”

  “I have always thought the sea was the easiest way of disposing of anything one did not want,” Shikara said.

  “Can you swim?” the Marquis enquired.

  Shikara nodded.

  “I might have suspected it!” he said. “Then you would swim ashore or perhaps ride on a dolphin’s back, and give evidence against me. I half-suspect you of being a witch, turning up on your broomstick at the most inconvenient moment.”

  Before Shikara could answer, the steward stood in the doorway.

  “Ask the Chef to provide dinner for a young lady who is extremely hungry,” the Marquis said, “and tell the Captain I wish to speak to him.”

  As he spoke he saw the expression on Shikara’s face. Just for a moment he hesitated, then before the steward had left the cabin he added:

  “Do not trouble the Captain. I will see him myself later.”

  As the door shut Shikara bent forward to say: “Please take me ... further than Cherbourg. I swear I will be no ... trouble.”

  “Trouble?” the Marquis ejaculated. “You have been nothing but trouble since the first moment I saw you.”

  “I know,” Shikara agreed, “but it is not my fault ... it is not ... really.”

  “That may be a matter of opinion,” the Marquis answered. “But let me make it quite clear—I am not intending to go as far as Alexandria.”

  “You could put me ashore at Gibraltar,” Shikara suggested. “I stopped there twice when I was with Papa. The last time was when I was ten, but I do not suppose it has changed much.”

  It came to the Marquis’s mind that she would have been far safer in Gibraltar when she was ten, considering all the garrisons stationed there, than at eighteen.

  However, aloud he merely remarked:

  “I will think about it.”

  There was silence and after a moment Shikara said:

  “You are not still as ... angry as you ... were, are you?”

  “I was very angry when I saw you—very angry indeed. In fact if I was not extremely civilised, and I might almost add a Christian man, I might have thrown you overboard, which is what you deserve.”

  She laughed and for the first time he noticed that she had a dimple on one side of her mouth.

  “I have a feeling that you are the sort of man who thinks first and acts afterwards,” she said. “I am the opposite. I act first, then think afterwards.”

  “That I might have guessed!” the Marquis said sarcastically.

  “I hope you do not think I regret running away,” Shikara said. “I am glad ... very glad to have escaped from Uncle Hardwin ... and whatever happens to me ... however difficult it might be... I will not go ... back.”

  “I suppose you realise that when what money you obtain for your jewellery runs out you will have to notify him if you want any more,” the Marquis said. “He doubtless has the handling of your fortune and can refuse to give you a penny unless you return.”

  “My jewellery will last for many months, but if I do not find Papa in time, I will work and earn some money of my own.”

  “It sounds very ambitious,” the Marquis said cynically, “and what work do you think you are capable of doing?”

  “Oh ... I will find some sort of employment once I get to Egypt,” Shikara replied. “I can speak Arabic for one thing.”

  “You can?”

  “Of course! I was always having to help Papa by writing letters for him to the authorities. I know quite a number of languages, as it happens, some of them not very well, like Turkish, which I found very difficult. But Persian was easy and Arabic I have been able to speak ever since I was a baby.”

  “I am still more surprised!” the Marquis remarked.

  “Just because you hate women does not mean to say that we are all empty-headed fools,” Shikara retorted. “Perhaps you have met the wrong sort of women!”

  The Marquis thought this might easily be true, but he merely said:

  “What do you call the wrong sort?”

  “The type who run after men, flatter and pander to them,” Shikara said scathingly.

  He laughed.

  By the time Shikara had finished dinner he had found himself laughing a remarkable number of times at the things she said.

  She might be irritating, and he was quite convinced that as far as he was concerned she was little else, but she undoubtedly had an original way of looking at life and of speaking her mind in a manner that he had never before encountered in a woman.

  He was of course used to women who set themselves out to amuse and entertain, which involved using every possible feminine allure while keeping the conversation almost entirely upon themselves.

  It was, the Marquis thought, refreshing and at the same time slightly challenging to be with a young woman who told him quite frankly she disliked him as a man.

  And yet she appeared to trust herself in his hands apparently without a second thought.

  When the meal was cleared away the Marquis sat back with a glass of brandy in his hand and said:

  “Now we have to make up our minds about you. If I agree to take you a little farther, will you give me your solemn word of honour that you will not make a scene when finally I deposit you ashore?”

  “You ought to know that a woman’s word of honour is never the same as a man’s,” Shikara flashed.

  “What do you mean by that?” the Marquis enquired.

  “Women do not have to behave like gentlemen,” Shikara answered. “For one thing, they do not have to pay their card debts for fear of being ostracised in their Club—they can listen at key-holes—read other people’s letters without being shot at dawn, or whatever men do to each other in those circumstances.”

  The Marquis found himself laughing again.

  “Then, if you do not acknowledge my code of honour—what is yours?”

  Shikara thought for a moment.

  “I would never hurt anyone who had not hurt me ... not intentionally at any rate. I would never say things behind people’s backs that I would not say to their faces, and I would not, unless it was impossible not to, lie!”

  “Then what are you prepared to swear on?”

  She gave him an impudent little look out of the corner of her eyes.

  “Cross my heart and hope to die!”

  “I do not consider that serious enough,” the Marquis answered.

  “Oh, but it is very serious,” Shikara argued. “I have no wish to die, not yet! There are so many things I want to do in the world.”

  “Very well,” the Marquis conceded, “cross you heart and hope to die that you will not make a scene when I put you ashore.”

  Shikara put her head on one side.

  “I think that is ambiguous. Supposing you choose Devil’s Island or some deserted spot in the Pacific where there is nothing but snakes and monster crabs?”

  “That is certainly another idea I had not considered,” the Marquis answered. “After a year or so in such a place you might even welcome a man, whatever he was like.”

  “I suppose that is true,” Shikara agreed, “but have you ever thought how you would manage in a world without women? After all , you a have to face the fact that there would be nobody to admire you except yourself.”

  There was such a mischievous gleam in her eye that the Marquis said quickly:

  “If you talk to me like that I shall very likely emulate you Uncle and beat you.”

  “I doubt if you would do anything so drastic,” Shikara answered. “You would think about it first and decide that you would not wish to appear undignified, or that it would ruffle the elegance of your exquisitely tailored coat!”

  “I think that as you were up all last night,” the Marquis said, “the sooner you now go to bed the better, and let me point out to y
ou, Miss Bartlett, that you said you would keep out of my way as much as possible and not be any trouble on this voyage!”

  He paused to add firmly:

  “We will have meals together, but the rest of the time I suggest you leave me to my own devices. I have plenty of things I wish to do, and I think it might be good for you to reflect on the very serious step you are taking.”

  “Of course I have no alternative but to agree to that,” Shikara answered, “except for the bit about reflection. Unless you lend me some of your books, I shall have nothing to do but think about myself, and that would be terribly boring.”

  “You may help yourself,” the Marquis conceded, “and doubtless, when you have finished reading the one you have chosen, Hignet will change it for another if our Library does not run out too soon.”

  Shikara walked towards the table that he indicated, on which lay the books he had purchased in Southampton before coming aboard.

  She looked at them, picking up one, then another, while he watched her.

  “They are nearly all of them about war,” she said. “I suppose men like to read about fights when they are not actually engaged in one.”

  “What did you expect—love-stories?” the Marquis enquired.

  “No, I did not!” Shikara replied. “And that is certainly a point to you! I will take this one.”

  She held up what the Marquis had thought might prove to be a rather dull book concerning the Russian ambitions in Afghanistan.

  “Do you think that will interest you?” he asked in some surprise.

  “Afghanistan is a place I have always intended to visit,” Shikara said quite seriously. “I think I can persuade Papa to go there, once I have found him ... that is, if he is not ... dead.”

  There was a note in her voice that made the Marquis think this was a very real fear at the back of her mind.

  Then before he could think of anything to say which might perhaps reassure her and give her hope, she walked towards the door, and turned when she reached it and curtseyed.

  “Cross my heart and hope to die! I will be as little nuisance as possible,” she said. “Try not to think about me. Hating someone always gives one indigestion!”